


We’re Going to Need More Medi-gel

by Ambitious_Rubbish



Series: Kinktober 2020 [13]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Kinktober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:55:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27188272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambitious_Rubbish/pseuds/Ambitious_Rubbish
Summary: As a warship on the front lines of the conflict against the Reapers, the Normandy is extremely well supplied. And that includes large stores of medi-gel for the various infantry units based aboard her.But when Jack and Miranda decide to turn the ship’s Mess Hall into a war zone… well, there probably isn’t enough medi-gel in all of Citadel space to handle that kind of disaster.
Series: Kinktober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949869
Kudos: 3





	We’re Going to Need More Medi-gel

**Author's Note:**

> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466580
> 
> I am never getting caught up, but even so, I remain unbowed. So:
> 
> Day 17: Tickling
> 
> Day 18: Hair-pulling
> 
> Day 19: Nipple Play

Dr. Karin Chakwas sighed heavily as she watched the proceedings spiral out of control. “If you’ll excuse me, Commander, I’ll go break out the medi-gel.”

Commander Jane Shepard smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Good idea, Doc. Save some for me. I get the feeling I’m going to need it.”

\-----

As seemed to be the case every single time something like this happened, no one seemed to know how it’d all actually started.

One moment, things were perfectly normal – normal, that is, for life aboard a warship fighting on the front lines of a galactic-scale war where the stakes were nothing less than the survival of all sentient biological life in said galaxy.

The next moment, there was shouting. Curses flying. And then, somehow, some way… clothes flying as well.

It was around this time that Shepard stepped out of the lift and onto the crew deck. She’d been expecting a quiet little midday trip to the Mess. Get a snack, get a drink, go back to her quarters and back to work.

No such luck.

Jack’s boot had nearly caught her on the side of the head. She’d dodged out of the way of the flying footwear, just in time for Miranda’s bra to smack her full in the face.

“What the hell?” she muttered, to no one in particular.

The question went unanswered. But then again, there was no need for anyone to answer it. The truth of the matter was plain as day, right in the middle of the Mess Hall.

Two women. Naked. Straining against each other as they grappled and gouged and punched and kicked at each other in an effort to gain some kind of advantage over the other.

Miranda growled as the more nimble Subject Zero wormed her way free for a brief moment, then pinned Miranda facedown on the floor. She reached up, grabbing a large handful of the former Cerberus operative’s hair, yanking hard and forcing Miranda’s chin upwards, after which she slipped a hand underneath it so she could hold her head in place.

Miranda thrashed violently, bouncing her hips, kicking her legs, and grunting angrily with the effort of it all. That grunt went up a tiny bit in pitch as Jack yanked on her hair to try and pacify her, but instead of settling her down, the act only seemed to rile her up even more. With Jack’s hand pinning her jaw shut, Miranda couldn’t really express herself the way she would have preferred, but it was pretty evident from the look on her face and the growling noise she made as she squirmed back and forth, that she was very unhappy.

Whether it was the situation itself that annoyed her, or the fact that she’d somehow let things get this far, no one could really be sure. But it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was how Miranda was reacting to her new circumstances. And she was doing so in a very… interesting fashion. Clearly, she was upset. Clearly she wished to be somewhere other than right here, in the middle of the Mess Hall, naked and with an equally naked opponent sitting atop her. But then Jack yanked even harder on her hair, and there was a brief noise – a faint *whuff* of exhaled breath. Miranda’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she shivered. It was a shiver that went mostly unnoticed, except for one very observant Shepard.

Jane admitted to herself that she was probably just imagining things. But there was something about that shiver, the way Miranda’s eyes had rolled up into her head, even the little edge in the way she’d grunted at the hair-pulling that made Shepard think there was more going on here than met the eye. Was Miranda actually… actually enjoying herself?

… no, couldn’t be.

Whatever the case, there wasn’t much time to spend mulling it over. Because Miranda found a way to win free.

No one expected her to use her biotics. With one hand trapped underneath herself and the other pinned behind her back, it didn’t seem possible that she could manage enough control to get off a biotic-based attack. But maybe that was the whole point. The field she generated was sloppy, doing little more than giving Jack a good smack across the nose, like rolling up an old-fashioned newspaper and giving a mischievous puppy a little *bop!* on the nose.

It was enough, though, to throw Jack off her game. It might have been the unexpected nature of the attack, or just the sheer impertinence of it, but whatever the case, it was enough to win Miranda some wiggle room. And in a flash, she’d flipped herself over, wrapped her thighs around the slighter woman’s waist and hauled her to the floor. Not that Jack made any of that easy, of course. She resisted. Put up a fight that could be considered… spirited, even for her. But no matter how viciously she fought, she was still grappling with an opponent that was… better suited for this kind of battle. Miranda managed to get in behind her, pull her arms apart so that she couldn’t curl them up to defend herself, and then did the same with her legs.

Flat on her back, Miranda underneath her holding her limbs in a vice-like grip, Jack was effectively helpless, and hating every second of it.

But then things got worse.

Miranda sent a hand trailing down Jack’s ribs, and her touch was almost… gentle. She glided her fingertips over the sensitive skin, brushed it lightly with her knuckles. On a couple of occasions she poked and prodded at the tender flesh until Jack began to… well, there was no other word for it, really – she began to _snarl._

“Oh, no. NO. Don’t you fucking dare, Cheerleader. I will kick your ass so hard-”

The threat died a horrible, stillborn death, replaced instead by a shriek that was half surprise, half laughter, but all anger. Fingers flew over her ribs. They scratched teasingly down her stomach. They reached around and goosed her hips. Through it all, Jack’s response to all this sudden insanity was her standard response to most things. Coarse language. Screamed at maximum volume.

Now, the crew of the Normandy were professionals. Military personnel. Soldiers. They were certainly no strangers to swearing, but even so, more than a few found themselves incredibly impressed at Jack’s command of vulgar language. For others, blushing profusely seemed the only reasonable recourse. And others still simply cringed, hoping that they wouldn’t fall under the dread shadow of those guns.

That left a very small number who cared nothing for the soundtrack – who were able to ignore the violence, the screeching and all the rest, and focus entirely on the visuals.

It was a hell of a show. And it was only going to get better.

In fact, it happened so quickly that once again, no one really knew how it had all been accomplished. Just that there was a sudden frenzy of movement, and after the proverbial dust had cleared, it was now Jack on top once more, and Miranda at her not-so-tender mercies. The Illusive Man’s former right-hand woman was livid at the sudden reversal of fortunes. She fought. She strained. The muscles in her back and shoulders tensed as Jack once again managed to turn her face down and pin her to the deck. And yet that wasn’t the extent of what she had in store for her greatest rival. She seized hold of Miranda’s ankles and brought them up and back, almost as if she intended to hogtie her.

She didn’t go quite so far – if only because she didn’t really have easy access to anything she could actually bind Miranda with, but it didn’t matter. Jack’s grip was unshakeable, and Miranda had been rendered largely helpless. She tried a variant of the biotic trick that had won her her freedom earlier, but this time her opponent was prepared.

“Nice try, but you’re not getting me with that twice.” She tightened her grip on Miranda’s ankles and grinned wickedly as she looked at the two helpless, pale-skinned feet right in front of her.

“Wait!” Miranda called out, the desperation evident in her voice. “Don’t! Just-”

But, of course, Jack wasn’t listening. And of course she had absolutely no intention of yielding the advantage she now had. She moved her fingers into attack position but held off for just a second or two – just long enough for Miranda to whip her head around and catch a glimpse of the doom that was about to befall her.

And then the tickles began in earnest. Evil, vicious fingers scratched at the bottoms of her feet, and Miranda shrieked like she were being murdered. Fingernails coursed all along the ultra sensitive skin along the soles of her feet, running from her heels to her toes, then back, then forth, then back again. Then from side to side.

She resisted valiantly – thrashing, bouncing her hips, doing anything she could think of to try and break free of Jack’s iron grip, but nothing worked. She felt her sanity starting to slip away, made a desperate grab at it and held on for dear life.

But truly, she didn’t stand a chance, and she knew it. If it had just been the tickling, she might have managed to hold on. The chances were slim, but there was still a chance. A ghost of a hint of a possibility that she just might manage to endure.

Unfortunately for her, Jack was determined to win this skirmish. Whatever “winning” entailed. It was possible even she didn’t know what would constitute victory in a scenario such as this. Not that she was willing to let that stop her.

Miranda, sensing that the stakes were about to be raised yet again, had shed what little remained of her pride and begun to beg for mercy.

No quarter was given.

The situation was bad and only going to get worse, Shepard mused to herself. It was time to step up. To be a leader. Her mouth set in a grimly determined line, she started to move forwards, ready to pull the two women apart with her own bare hands if necessary.

She got maybe about a half step forwards.

And then they whirled on her.

Even with reflexes heightened to almost superhuman levels by the Lazarus Project, and even with years of intense combat experience making it incredibly difficult to get the drop on her, Shepard was still caught off guard. Jack and Miranda had been so focused on each other, that Jane had made the classic mistake of thinking they wouldn’t even notice her until she was right on top of them.

Once again, no such luck.

She was off her feet in a split second, a sweep from Jack’s biotics taking her legs out from under her, followed by Miranda catching her with hers. Shepard found herself being lowered to the deck rather gently – if abruptly – and she barely had time to begin processing what was happening before they were on top of her.

And since they were aboard ship, and since all three of them were ostensibly off-duty, Shepard wasn’t in her combat hardsuit, or even a uniform jumpsuit – both of which would have provided at least some small protection against the dangers she now faced. No, she was in little more than a T-shirt and pair of shorts. And both items of clothing were almost immediately dispatched with ruthless efficiency by her two assailants.

Miranda snickered as she rose to her knees, holding Shepard’s T-shirt over her head as if it were a trophy taken off of a vanquished opponent. And in a way it was.

Jack, meanwhile, was grinning with an intense and animalistic glee as her biotics flared and she flung Jane’s shorts off to the side where they impacted the bulkhead with a fluffy, muted little *whump* sound. She could have merely tossed them aside, but there was something about that little item of clothing being thrown at a wall with such force (even if the overall effect wasn’t as dramatic as Jack had hoped) that sent a little thrill rolling down her spine.

A thrill that only intensified when she and the rest of the crew gathered in the Mess noted one very important fact.

The Commander wasn’t wearing underwear.

In her defense, she had just been in her quarters doing a little bit of data-shuffling. She hadn’t expected… anything like this. But now that her weakness had been revealed to everyone, Shepard could see the gears whirling in her attackers’ heads. The former opponents shared a brief glance. Then, as one, they turned on her, one rushing to pin down her arms, the other draping herself over her legs. It all happened so fast, that all she saw were blurs. She wasn’t even sure who was holding on to what, only that her arms had been raised above her head and her wrists somehow secured together. Her legs were pried apart, and something was keeping her ankles pinned.

“Ladies. Seriously?” She tried the diplomatic approach first, but to no one’s surprise, it didn’t do her any good.

That left struggling. Good, old-fashioned thrashing and kicking and all of that. She didn’t want to hurt either of them, and so she wasn’t struggling as hard as she might otherwise have. But in truth, she needn’t have bothered showing restraint. Jack and Miranda knew their business, and it quickly dawned on Shepard that even if she were to pull out all the stops, she was going to be going absolutely nowhere. Fast.

There was a loud clatter off to their side, and Shepard noticed a plastic squeeze tube of some sort had landed on the deck and slid to just within arm’s reach (if she’d been able to move her arms.) But Miranda had noticed it, too, and her arms were perfectly serviceable. She grabbed for it, flipped the top open and found it to be a tube of sterile gel – ostensibly to be used in medical procedures and the like, but more than adequate for this set of circumstances.

The after-action report would later “conveniently” show that no one gathered in that room had any recollection whatsoever of who’d “donated” said item to the proceedings, but at that moment, it really didn’t matter as Shepard (and indeed everyone else in the room) was treated to the gloriously heart-stopping, eye-opening sight of Miranda upending the tube and emptying half of its contents onto her chest.

There was a collective gasp, and Shepard swore she even heard a bit of awe seep into Jack’s voice as the woman muttered something filthy and profane under her breath. But she didn’t have much time to reflect on any of that, because Miranda had lowered herself onto the redheaded Spectre, first sandwiching their midriffs together, and then…

Shepard gulped as Miranda leaned in, flashed her a dazzlingly brilliant smile, and then winked at her. All of this a mere second before she began to massage her.

With her breasts.

Jane Shepard was no stranger to the Extranet, nor was she unfamiliar with its… seamier aspects. It wasn’t as if she had never seen this sort of thing done before. The difference was she’d never seen a live performance, much less been an active participant. But that was exactly what was happening here.

And it was _spectacular._

It was beyond anything she could have imagined in her wildest fantasies, and she felt the tips of her breasts grow almost achingly stiff as Miranda slid and shimmied against her. She felt hot. Flushed. Even a little dizzy. Everything had gone all fuzzy around the edges and yet was crystal clear at the same time. She could hear Jack laughing, clear as a proverbial bell. But at the same time, Miranda’s smile was such a dazzling white it threatened to blind her. It was like she could feel every inch of their skin where it pressed against hers, or how chilly the metal deck was underneath her, but every time she tried to move, her limbs reacted with agonizing slowness.

Honestly, this whole crazy business was coming as a bit of a shock to her. Sure, she was… sensitive there. But wasn’t everyone? And sure, Miranda was gorgeous.

Not to mention she had a rack to die for.

But she could notice all these things, acknowledge the truth of them and still keep her head. Remain aloof and detached like a good soldier? People did manage that sort of thing, didn’t they?

Well…

Maybe “people” did, but Commander Jane Shepard? At this moment? Could not.

“Miranda… harder...” she whispered, her voice tinged with desperation.

Now, Miranda Lawson was not the kind of person who could be described as “bubbly.” But the way she laughed as Shepard practically begged her to keep doing what she was doing? It was like the little burble of a flask of chemicals about to boil over. All tightly controlled… until it suddenly wasn’t. Miranda’s laughter spilled out of her, warm and happy and musical, like the little tinkle of a porch wind chime, and all in stark contrast to the sheer mischief in her smile. “Harder, you say?”

Jack felt it, too. She rolled her eyes and chuckled darkly. “Better give the lady what she wants, Cheerleader.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

\-----

As it turned out, they didn’t end up needing that medigel after all. There were more than a few strained muscles to come out of all of this, but nothing too serious. Really, the only mildly serious injury came when Traynor stepped out of the lift in search of Shepard who hadn’t been responding to comm hails.

She saw the craziness playing itself out on the Mess Hall floor and fainted dead away.


End file.
